


love me lights out

by lazyfish



Series: xo [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Multi, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: Hunter doesn't have any clothes of his own anymore, because three certain individuals keep stealing his clothing.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse/Jemma Simmons
Series: xo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626316
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31
Collections: Marvel Polyship Bingo 2020





	love me lights out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XOLove47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOLove47/gifts).



“Anyone care to tell me why I don’t have anything with long sleeves anymore?” Hunter asked as he strolled into the common area. The only people there were his partners; Fitz and Bobbi were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, with Jemma’s head in Fitz’s lap and her feet in Bobbi’s.

“I don’t know why you’re asking us,” Bobbi said, turning to Hunter with the picture of innocence written on her face. That was rich, considering the flannel she was wearing was most assuredly not hers. 

“Because you’re all clothes-stealing gremlins, that’s why.” Hunter tried and failed to look serious as he moved to sit in front of the couch, glancing at the television to see what they were all watching. It was some documentary. Judging by the amount of medical terminology Hunter had heard in the thirty seconds since entering the room, it was Jemma’s pick. 

“That’s not very nice,” Jemma pouted. “I haven’t stolen any of your clothes.”

“Liar,” Fitz said before Hunter could. “You took his socks just the other week!”

“Socks don’t count.”

“Do too!”

“Children,” Bobbi sighed. “We’re not going to argue about whether or not stealing socks counts.” She looked to Hunter. “I’m not going to stop, you know.”

“What if I say you can have the flannel?” 

“I’ll consider it.” Bobbi did not sound like she was considering it at all.

“Do you _want_ me to freeze to death, woman!?”

“Hunter. We live in a climate-controlled government facility. When we leave the base, you wear tactical gear, not flannels.” 

“It’s called going undercover, Barbara! And I get cold at night!”

Jemma snorted. “How do you get cold with three other people in the bed?”

“ _Someone_ steals all the blankets!” That would be Fitz - the monkey nickname wasn’t just because of his love for the animal. He also had a surprising grip strength and no qualms about using it to amass a pile of blankets. He then proceeded to cuddle the blankets instead of his partners, which meant Hunter had more than one reason to be cranky.

“Like I said, I’ll consider it,” Bobbi said. “Now hush. I want to know how this medical mystery ends.”

Hunter obliged, leaning back against the sofa. He didn’t stop grumbling, but he did keep it low enough that they could watch the documentary in peace.

\---

“I’m bloody freezing!” Hunter announced, stomping into the kitchen. May gave him a look before picking up her bowl of oatmeal and leaving the room. Fitz paused pouring his cereal, trying to decide whether to look sheepish or nonchalant. He succeeded in looking neither, and Hunter shuffled over, wrapping his arms around Fitz’s waist.

“Lovely Leo,” Hunter murmured, kissing Fitz’s neck, “would you please tell me why you are wearing the flannel I thought Bob stole from me?”

“I stole it from her,” Fitz said slowly.

“And instead of returning it to its proper owner, you decided to take it for yourself?”

“Uh… yes?” Fitz leaned back against Hunter. “It’s warm.”

“I know.” Hunter kissed Fitz’s neck again. “Which is why I would like it back.”

“You can have it back tonight,” Fitz promised.

“And will I be permitted to keep it back?”

Fitz didn’t answer, which didn’t do much to inspire confidence in Hunter.

“Do you reckon Jemma will ever give me my socks back?” Hunter asked, releasing Fitz so he could finish getting his breakfast.

“Nope,” Fitz answered. “They’re her socks now.”

Hunter sighed. “I need to go shopping.”

“More clothes to steal?” Bobbi asked as she waltzed into the kitchen.

“Borrow,” Fitz said around a mouthful of cereal. “We’re just borrowing.”

“Keep telling yourself that, dear,” Bobbi said. She pressed a quick kiss to Fitz’s cheek before offering Hunter a morning kiss as well.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you for being a bloody thief,” Hunter muttered against her lips.

“I don’t need forgiveness or permission,” Bobbi said, smiling.

Hunter rolled his eyes at her but didn’t protest. It wasn’t like he was going to start over the clothing, even if he was actually very cold. Like he told Fitz, he could always go shopping for more - and try to find a place to hide it where it wouldn’t be found again.

\---

“This is for you.” Jemma handed Hunter a wad of fabric, which, when unfolded, revealed itself to be the same flannel Bobbi and then Fitz had worn. How it had come into Jemma’s possession, Hunter didn’t know.

“This is suspicious,” he told her. “Why didn’t you just put it in the wash?”

“The point is not to clean it,” Jemma said, as if it was obvious. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore, so it has no appeal.”

“No appeal?” Hunter repeated, dumbstruck. “You mean you lot keep stealing this because it _smells like me_?”

“That’s a portion of the reason.” Jemma blinked at him. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Do my ruddy socks smell like me, too?” Hunter asked, furrowing his brow.

“No.” Jemma blushed a pretty pink. “But they’re yours.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me, Jemma Simmons?” Hunter asked, setting the flannel on the bedside table so he could crowd close to her.

“You know I’ve been sentimental, Lance Hunter, don’t play dumb.” Jemma rested her cheek against his chest. “After…” she paused, and Hunter stroked a hand down her back soothingly. “After Maveth, I think I came to appreciate a little more how insignificant we all are, in the scheme of things. And how easy it would be for us just to…”

“Spiral into nothingness?” Hunter suggested. He couldn’t pretend he had never pondered how fragile life was - not after the SAS, or after Izzy had died.

“Yeah.” Jemma sighed. “And having something of yours… it’s a reminder that right now, we’re not nothing. You’re not nothing.”

Here, most people would’ve expected Hunter to make a snarky comment about how unromantic the sentiment was. But Hunter understood fragility, understood how hard it was to put it into words. He kissed the top of Jemma’s head softly.

Right now, he was not nothing. He was holding her, and he could only hope that he could stay this close forever.

\---

The cottage in Perthshire was nice, Jemma supposed. It was certainly better than a spaceship, and she was happy to be able to settle down with Fitz finally. The place was a little too big for her tastes, though - there was a draft that blew through, and even when they were both there, the cottage felt… empty.

Jemma tried not to dwell on those thoughts. She tried not to think about how everything had the echo of emptiness anymore. The years had dulled it, but Jemma didn’t think she would ever be able to drive the emptiness away completely. She loved Fitz, but she couldn’t pretend she had never loved anyone else. She couldn’t pretend that when she thought of her future, this was the whole picture.

But she had to make do with what she had, which meant unpacking boxes and trying to turn the house into a home.

Jemma was halfway through a box of clothing when she had to stop and sit down on the floor. The breath had been punched out of her, and she couldn’t seem to quite catch it again. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the ratty flannel. She had thought maybe it was in Bobbi or Hunter’s go-bag, and that’s why it had disappeared when they had. But no - it was here, in their clothing box. It had probably been tucked in the back corner of a closet because neither she nor Fitz was really ready to face these memories yet. They probably never would be ready, Jemma thought as she carefully removed the flannel from the box.

On impulse, she pressed the fabric to her nose, searching for…

Another gut punch. She couldn’t remember what Hunter smelled like. She didn’t know whether the faint musk on the flannel was the last snatch of Hunter’s cologne or simply the mustiness of gathering dust for four years.

She tries to take a deep breath but failed. Her eyes stung, and Jemma didn’t try to hold back the tears.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Hunter should’ve been there to complain about the draft, and Bobbi should’ve been there to help her with the kitchen cabinets that were just a touch too high, and when they built a home, they should’ve been able to build it together.

Jemma didn’t know how long she sat there on the floor. All that she knew was that when it was over, Fitz was there, too. His eyes were just as red as hers, and when she met his gaze, she knew he understood all the things she couldn’t find words for.

Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from the fabric of the flannel, letting it drop into her lap.

It was just enough movement that a peek of white appeared out of the top of the breast pocket. Jemma frowned and pulled the piece of paper out of the pocket.

“Fitz…” she breathed.

_Wait for us. xoxo_

There was a knock at the door.


End file.
